Honor Once Held
by Theaphelia
Summary: In the isolation of his quarters, General Grievous remembers and prays for his people and himself. AU, oneshot.


One-shot, probably a bit AU, I doubt Grievous remembers much about his homeworld after everyone screwed with his mind, but whatever. Here's the picture which inspired this fic:

www . deviantart . com /view/ 24913693/

Remove the spaces.

* * *

The cracked bone mask seemed so small in his large, metal hands. The empty eye sockets stared back at him, as though pleading to be complete again. Those sockets once framed the eyes of the great Kaleesh warlord, General Grievous, and it was his hands in which the mask now sat. 

Old, crackled karabbac blood still adorned the cream-colored mumuu-bone mask. The General traced one long, cold finger over the blood markings, which had begun to fade with time. This mask, which meant so much to him, to his honor, and to his soul, was one of the few things he had left from his past.

Grievous looked into a wall panel which he stood next to, hand over the light controls. His reflection glared back at him, twisted and warped by the metal.

_Is it the metal of this wall panel which distorts me, or is it the metal of this artificial shell?_

Perhaps it was both.

What would his people think of him now? More importantly, how would his Ancestors view him? Had he become an abomination to the Gods? To Kalee? He had certainly become an abomination to himself.

Dimming the lights to the point where it was nearly dark, he turned away from the wall panel. Slowly, he approached a cabinet which rested in a remote corner of his quarters. Opening the door, he delicately removed a large leather sack, made from the skin of a mumuu, the one which he had killed for his Rite of Passage around twenty years ago. The very same one whose skull made up the mask he was holding. Intricate dye patterns and embroidery covered the surface of the leather in rich reds, greens, and blues. His mother had sewn the sack together and presented it to him on the night of his marriage to his first wife.

Now it was singed. The leather had become delicate, and the threads of the embroidery had begun to tear. It was the sack he brought with him to the battles of the Huk war, and it was with him the night of that fateful crash which had ruined his body forever.

He opened the delicate sack and removed the items inside carefully. A glass bottle, once intricately decorated with shining bronze and natural stains, had vine-like cracks running over the surface. He next removed wooden box, which warped and ruined by the water of the Jenuwaa Sea which he had crashed into, and softly laid it in front of him. Though the wood had been warped, the intricate, stylized carvings which covered the lid remained as beautiful as ever. They depicted a warrior and a karabbac entangled in battle. The karabbac was reared on its hind legs, looming over the warrior, whose spear was pointed at its stomach. He also removed a small, stone dish, and a smaller box which matched the larger. Two large feathers, ceremonial decorations of a Kaleesh warlord, were also removed and laid next to the boxes.

With all of these items laid out in front of him, he stopped and gazed at them sadly. He remembered finding a battle droid dutifully bringing the sack to the trash unit. He remembered grabbing the thin head of the annoying, metal automaton and smashing it against the wall, and secretly bringing the sack back to his quarters and hiding it in the cabinet in the corner.

As far as he knew, Count Dooku didn't know of this, and neither did Sidious. Grievous had brought the ruined droid to the trash units and disposed of it before anyone or anything had discovered it.

These few precious items were all he had left of Kalee, and of any honor he might still have had among his ancestors. He opened the large box, the rusted hinges creaking as the lid was lifted. He pulled out a large wood-and-metal figure. It was a figure of a karabbac, sitting and holding its head up proudly and regally. One of its two-toed paws was lifted, the claws bared, displaying its power and readiness to fight. Its body was covered in inlays of _arudilat, _a shimmering substance found in shell-creatures of the Jenuwaa Sea. Its eyes were of yellow gems. Atop its head was a small, metal dish.

He picked up the second box and removed the lid. Inside this box was a few firesticks and a single small cone of ceremonial _osikitu_ incense; all that he had left. He carefully placed the cone into the dish atop the karabbac's head and struck one of the firesticks across the inside of the box. It flared up immediately, the smell reaching his olfactory sensors. He touched the tip of the burning stick to the tip of the incense cone, and the cone slowly began to smolder, taking on a red glow which shone like a star in the dark room, and releasing sweet-smelling smoke.

Shaking out the match and placing it in the dish with the incense, he next picked up the stone dish and placed it next to the karabbac. He also grabbed the small glass bottle and pulled out the stopper, dumping its contents into the stone dish. All the ceremonial blood he had left was barely enough to cover the bottom of the dish.

Replacing the stopper and laying the bottle off to the side, he carefully picked up his bone mask and held it delicately. The sweet incense was quickly burning away, the smoke swirling around him, and entering his olfactory sensors, bringing back a flood of memories. He recalled the smell of the sweet Osikitu reeds, out of which this incense was made. These were the reeds which lined the beaches by his village. So many times he had sat with this incense burner the night before leaving for battle with his family, praying to the Gods and the Ancestors for safety and guidance. He remembered the ocean crashing in the background over the sounds of the voices of his children and wives. They had been praying for him.

Did they still pray for him?

He dipped one finger into the stone dish, coating his duranium finger with the blood, and ran it over the bone mask, tracing the old lines made by the Village Lord as a blessing, just moments before his crash. The smooth, crystal-red blood reflected his face in its surface. He re-dipped his finger in the blood and ran his finger over the carving in his faceplate. He continued the markings below his right eye, mimicking those on his mask. He dipped his finger once again into the small amount of blood, collecting as much as he could on his finger. He continued drawing the markings across his faceplate, running his finger over the smooth duranium. He continued down to his chest, where he painted the markings across his chest also.

_Honor markings_, he thought. _I have no more honor, not with what I've become. I do not deserve these markings_.

He picked up the black, shining feathers and placed them behind his audioflaps. He stuck the tips of the feathers into a small space between the faceplate and the audioflaps, then folded his audioflaps down to keep the feathers from falling out.

He faced the karabbac, which was still releasing the gray smoke from the dish on its head. The cone of incense was burning away quickly, and was already halfway gone. He placed his hands flat on the floor, bowing to the statue and praying softly in his native tongue.

He prayed for his family, that they were living peacefully without him. Memories of his family rushed through his mind as he prayed. Their smiling faces when he returned home, their dejection when he had to leave. The love which he felt for his wives, the pain he felt without their presence around him. They had done so much for him, they had always supported him when he was ill. He couldn't stand the thought of having them suffer from a loss he could not prevent. He prayed for his Ancestors to watch over them and keep them safe from invaders.

He prayed for Kalee. He remembered how, though dry and barren the planet had become, it held a beauty that even the lush, green forests of the Huk world didn't have. He remembered the sparkling desert sands in the morning, the sun rising over the mountains, the rare thunderstorms and the celebrations held when the Gods brought them rain. He remembered the sunsets reflecting off the shimmering sea. He remembered all the people of his village, how they had loved and worshipped him as a hero. He remembered the festivals they held in honor of their Ancestors and the Gods, and how every individual during these ceremonies seemed to become one joyful mass. He prayed that his beloved people were fighting valiantly against the Huk, refusing to give in to the pressures of the greedy insectoids.

Lastly, he prayed for himself. He prayed that he could retain his honor among the Ancestors, and that they do not forsake him and leave him doomed in his metal shell. He prayed that he could one day return to his homeworld and his family. One day, when all was over, he could return just to let them know he was alright, that he still remembered them.

He looked up from the metal floor, his prayer completed. The incense was almost gone now; only a small piece remained, glowing a soft red in the darkness of the room. He felt tears running over his eyes. They spilled over onto his faceplate, smearing the still-moist blood he had applied to it. His chest suddenly grew heavy as he watched the glow of the incense dim.

He recognized the feeling all too well. The feeling was heartbreak.

The remaining piece of incense collapsed and went out. All was dark.

* * *

Please leave a comment. :)


End file.
